


Lavender Rose

by Imagine_Darksiders



Category: Darksiders (Video Games)
Genre: Angel/Human - Freeform, Angels are big, Earth post resurrection, Florist AU, awkwardly getting to know each other, florist reader, lots of wing touching, wet feathers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 10:53:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15141518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imagine_Darksiders/pseuds/Imagine_Darksiders
Summary: It's been a year or so since humanity rose from the ashes and reclaimed their world. Other species have become something of the norm, popping down to Earth from time to time. Angels, Makers and Undead, seldom demons though.You're a florist just minding your shop on a slow, dreary day when an unexpected visitor flutters in through the front door.





	Lavender Rose

Fat, heavy drops of rain patter against the pavement outside your shop. Autumn had finally arrived, bringing with it the cold, wet and windy weather conditions that always tend to encourage people to stay inside rather than venture out to the market. An inconvenience, for one such as yourself, as you could certainly do with the business.  
Sighing, you pat down your apron and brush a dead leaf from your sleeve before making your way to the dahlias in the front window. At least with the lack of customers, you can get some dead-heading done. You produce a set of secateurs from your pocket and start trimming. Dreamily, you watch some of the pedestrians jog through the downpour, umbrellas almost turning inside out and the hems of their trousers or skirts wet through with rain water. People always seem to be in a hurry. Everyone rushes to get to the next place and it’s sad that they don’t have the luxury of time to stop and smell the roses. Literally, in your case. You count yourself amongst the lucky few who can take the roses with you.

  
A woman outside shrieks when a car drives by too close to the path, splashing muddy, cold water all over her. She shakes a fist lividly at the driver, resuming her power-walk down the street and out of sight.  
Shaking your head with a wince, you’re more than grateful to be inside where it’s dry.

  
You snip the last of the dead flowers from the bouquet, turning towards your counter, intent on finally putting the gladioli in a vase. The poor flowers have been sitting on the table top, unattended since early this morning.

  
You trot around the back of your counter and duck down to peruse your collection of small, ceramic vases that are sure to liven up the inside of the shop. You’d painstakingly hand-painted each one with different, intricate patterns after discovering that they’d been a real hit with some of the older ladies who would often stop by.  
The soft, classical music playing out of a busted-up, old radio in the corner is interrupted by the bell above the door suddenly tinkling, indicating that there was at least someone out there who was crazy enough to brave the cold and rain just to come and buy your flowers.  
You pick out a small, pastel-blue and orange striped vase and stand up from behind the counter, ready to flash a bright smile and greet your customer. But your eyes land on the person who’d just walked in and you promptly drop the vase in your hands with a loud gasp of shock.

  
An angel stands in the doorway, rain running down golden and white armour in little rivulets, before dripping into a slowly-growing puddle by his boots. On his back, a pair of enormous, pristine, feathery wings are folded close to his body, as though he’s making an active effort not to knock over any of your carefully arranged displays. The wings look completely bedraggled and drenched from the rain outside, a sad sight, but you’re no less impressed by his sheer regality.

  
At the shattering of your vase, his head snaps up in your direction and your eyes lock for a moment. The angel’s skin is dark, contrasting beautifully against the snowy-white feathers and his similarly coloured eyes which peer into you with fierce intensity. He has a strong jaw, high cheekbones and thick, full lips which are marred by a long, dark scar that stretches from somewhere beneath his short beard to a point just above the left eyebrow. But the mark doesn’t distract from the handsome features, rather, it seems to actually enhance them. It’s with some degree of alarm that you find yourself appreciating the physical attractiveness of this strange, frighteningly huge angel.  
You’re pulled from your scrutinisation of the guest when he suddenly begins to move towards you. Some, small part of you is horrified that you’re still staring at his face with your mouth agape like some wonderstruck child. He reaches the counter and looks down at you, filling your field of vision with wings and gleaming armour. The classical music does little to penetrate the thick silence that falls between the you and the angel. You’ve never seen one up close, only once or twice from a distance, or maybe in passing on the news. But right now, you’re literally standing face to face with a resident of Heaven. The angel’s shoulder armour bumps slightly against one of your hanging pots with a clang, breaking the quiet spell and making you jump violently.

  
His lips twitch slightly at your nervousness but he doesn’t lose the gentle frown which he points in the direction of your fallen vase.  
“Are you alright?” he asks.

  
You freeze at the sound of his voice. It’s deep, authoritative and smooth as silk. You’re so enraptured, you don’t remember that he’s probably expecting an answer. The angel’s eyebrows gradually begin to climb higher and higher up his forehead as he watches you in mild amusement. When you don’t react for a while, he softly clears his throat. That certainly gets your attention.

  
“H-huh!?” you squeak, wincing in despair at the ineloquent response.

  
At least your angelic guest doesn’t seem too upset by your rather pitiful greeting. His mouth stretches into an easy smile as he regards you patiently. “I asked if you were alright,” he repeats, “I believe you dropped something when I entered?” He actually sounds apologetic.

  
At long last, the surprise starts to wear off, leaving you room to feel incredibly embarrassed at your initial reaction to his presence.  
“Oh! Oh yeah, the vase!” Smacking a hand to your forehead, you quickly duck down behind the counter and start gathering up the sharp little pieces of broken ceramic. ’ _Damn_ ,’ you mentally wince, ‘ _this one was my favourite_.‘

  
A set of heavy footsteps thud around the side of the counter. From the corner of your eye, you spot the angel’s metal boots stepping into view. He squeezes himself between your counter and the wall, mindful not to scrape the paint with the sharper edges of his armour. He proceeds to lower himself to one knee until his face is mere inches from yours. Your hands pause over the broken vase as your eyes fly up to meet his. The angel’s own hands begin to scoop up the remainder of the mess and his lips pull down in a grimace.  
“My apologies,” he murmurs sincerely, “ _I_ should be the one to clean this up. I did scare you, after all.”

  
A breathy laugh escapes your throat. “Oh don’t worry, you didn’t scare me! I was just…. _startled_ , that’s all. It’s not every day I get such an interesting customer through my door!”  
Mercifully, your professionalism kicks itself back into gear and you shoo his hands away from the mess. The angel stands back up and moves around to the front of the counter again, following your lead when you set the ceramic shards on top of the wooden surface.

  
“Now then.” Taking a moment to straighten your hair, you rest your arms on the counter, away from the broken vase and shoot him a careful smile. “What can I do for you?”  
His milky eyes appraise you intently for a few seconds. They roll from your messy hair to the apron around your waist and you notice his gaze lingers on your eyes for a long time before he asks, “I wonder, might I know your name?”

  
The question throws you off guard. What on Earth could a being from heaven possibly gain from knowing your name. Not even your _human_ customers have cared enough to ask. Regardless, you answer him anyway. He repeats your name carefully, watching you for any indication that he’d said it wrong, then places a fist on his armour-clad chest and bows his head slightly.  
“Well met, Y/n of Earth,” his voice booms out, “I am Nathaniel. Guardian of the Light and defender of the Crystal Spire.” His tone softens into something apologetic in nature. “I am sorry to have invaded your home like this.” He pauses to glance over his shoulder at the small pools of water that have followed him from the door. “ _And_ that I’ve made such a mess…”

  
“Ah, it’s alright,” you hurry to reassure him, “the water is good for the plants! Besides, this isn’t my home, it’s my shop.” You grin up at his handsome face whilst he surveys the room with curious eyes.  
He turns a quizzical expression down to you. “Your shop is like nothing we have in the White City. It smells sublime….Tell me, what manner of merchant are you?”

  
“I - uh, oh!” you stutter, “Thank you. Well, I’m a florist. These flowers are my….my _wares_ , I guess? I- I’m sorry, I just have to ask..”  
You take a deep breath and Nathaniel tilts his head inquisitively.

“I don’t want to come across as rude but, what exactly are you doing _here_? You don’t look like the type of person in the market for sweet williams.”

  
The angel blinks rapidly and scratches at the back of his neck, perplexed. “I….confess, I do no know this 'William’, nor the nature of his temperament.”  
The small floristry is suddenly filled with the sound of joyful laughter.  
Nathaniel gazes at you, wide-eyed whilst you slap a hand over your mouth in horror when you realise that you’ve just potentially offended an angel. A _big_ angel. A _very_ big, likely very _deadly_ angel.

  
With frightened eyes, you brave a glance up into his steely gaze, only to duck your head slightly when he suddenly smiles broadly down at you.

  
“Why, you have a fine laugh, Y/n!” he exclaims, “Oh, how I’ve missed the sound. My former master was not one for humour, you see.” The angel proceeds to straighten himself up and gives his wings a delicate shake, ridding them of a bit more excess water. “Now, as for why I am in here…..”  
Gesturing to your front window, he grimaces towards the weather outside. “A scholar of some calibre has tasked me with gathering knowledge of your culture and architecture. I am here to learn more of Earth.” His lips draw into a thin line. “But as much as your realm impresses me, I _despise_ its rain. The White City does not suffer from such abysmal conditions.”

 

“No,” you reply, removing your hands from your mouth with a sigh of relief, “I don’t suppose it does. I mean, it is Heaven after all.”

  
Nathaniel nods, humming wistfully at the memory of a warm, dry climate. “Indeed. The water makes flying incredibly cumbersome, so I’m afraid I sought shelter, this being the first open residence I happened upon.”  
You watch him, fascinated as he slowly swings his massive bulk around to regard your flower-filled shop. Hesitantly, he glances at you whilst motioning to a pot of chrysanthemums. “May I?”  
Bewildered, you simply smile and shrug. “Of course! Please, feel free.”  
He makes his way over to the flowers, ever mindful of his wings which still look sodden from the rain outside. He places his hands beneath the heads of several chrysanthemums so carefully that you feel your heart flutter at the unexpected gentleness of this ethereal giant.  
“You know,” you chuckle as Nathaniel sticks his broad nose amongst the petals and takes a long, deep breath, “You don’t need to pretend to be interested in flowers to avoid going outside. You’re more than welcome to stay here until the rain stops.”

  
To be perfectly honest, Nathaniel is perhaps the most interesting person to have come through that door and you’re not really keen to see him leave.  
The angel lifts his head from the flowerpot, looking slightly relieved. “That is good of you, friend,” he sighs, “But I am not merely pretending…..You must understand, such fragrant foliage is seldom found in the White City. I may be a warrior, but even _I_ understand the importance of slowing down enough to appreciate the small, fragile and beautiful gifts the Creator has to offer." As he speaks, that mesmerising gaze never once leaves your face. His tone dips lowly into a deep, smoky rumble that promises total safety and monumental danger all at once.  
You realise, with a start, that he’s looking at you as though _you’re_ the most interesting thing that he’s ever laid eyes on, not the other way around.

  
Heat rushes to your cheeks under the intensity of his gaze. Nathaniel must have seen something flash across your face that he misinterprets as discomfort because his eyes suddenly widen, his gentle smile falls and he straightens up hurriedly. In his flustered state, he ends up crashing the top of his head into a heavy, metal, hanging basket that dangles from a hook in the celling. He grits his teeth and hisses at the sudden, unwarranted flash of pain.

  
“Oh! Goodness, are you alright!?” you exclaim, dashing around the counter towards him.

He stands there, rubbing at his head and shooting the hanging pot a dirty look. “I am fine,” he grumbles. After a moment, his hand drops to his hip and he flashes you a grimace. “Forgive me for staring,” he mumbles remorsefully, “I did not mean to cause you disquiet. But you are first human I have ever spoken to. I don’t quite know what to do with myself.”

  
You pause, then huff through your nose amusedly. Your concerned features soften as you reach up towards his head. “That’s funny, I feel like I’m in the exact same boat. I’ve never met an angel before, so I haven’t got the first idea of how I should be behaving.”  
As your fingers approach, Nathaniel starts to lean his head back and eyes them warily. “What are you doing?” he asks.

  
In response, you tut and frown. “I’m trying to see your head! Those hanging baskets are heavy. Now come here, I’m not going to hurt you.”

  
“I can assure you,” the angel scoffs, yet gradually bows his head for you to reach, “I have suffered far worse blows than this. Your concern is not necessary.”

  
Despite his words, your soft fingers brush gently over the angel’s scalp, almost reverently. At the contact, Nathaniel stiffens, his wings shuddering noticeably. You stroke your fingertips around, feeling for any lumps or cuts. After a moment of having you softly dance your hands over his head, the angel releases a soft sigh of contentment.  
“Huh,” you state, “You were right, there’s not a scratch on you. Damn, that pot would have knocked _most_ humans unconscious.”  
You retract your hands, letting them fall against your sides and take a step back, allowing Nathaniel the room to stand. He rises to his full height with a proud smile, puffing out his wide chest and proclaiming, "You will find that an angel warrior is _far_ more difficult to damage than a human.”

  
Rolling your eyes at his peacocking, you stroll over to an overturned watering can. “Yeah, yeah. You guys are big and tough and us humans are small and weak…”

  
Behind you, Nathaniel’s wings droop, his smile fading. The angel thumps a hand against his temple, copying your earlier action and mentally scolds himself. Quietly, he steps up behind you. “I meant no offence,” he offers. Then, with a sigh, he hesitantly lays a hand on your comparatively tiny shoulder. “But I can see that I’ve insulted you, and after you’ve shown me nothing but kindness…..” He trails off.

  
You’re glad that he can’t see your face because it had once more become flushed with colour the moment his large hand fell onto your shoulder. It’s heavy and firm, more than capable of crushing your bones at the slightest application of pressure, however the touch is anything but threatening. It feels gentle and safe and so vastly different to the last time you’d been touched.  
He sounded so dejected at the thought that he’d unintentionally hurt your feelings. But honestly? You weren’t really bothered by what he’d said because he was technically correct.

  
Only when you feel the heat in your cheeks start to dissipate do you twist your head around and smile warmly up at Nathaniel. “It’s okay,” you reassure him, “you didn’t insult me. It’s only the truth. You’re like a…a great oak tree, and I’m a….a…” You grasp at the air as though attempting to summon the word from the void itself.

  
The angel decides to step in. “You are like these flowers.” He sweeps his arm in a wide arc, indicating your entire shop. “Rare, radiant. Yes, perhaps you are more fragile than a tree, but you still grow, proud and strong. You bring joy and light to an otherwise dreary world.” He nods towards the rain still pouring outside, then furrows his brow at you in a sincere manner. “That is a noble purpose.”  
A little shellshocked at his deep compliment, you tentatively raise your hand and place it over the top of the one on your shoulder, giving it a few pats. “That’s one of the sweetest things anyone has ever said to me…. _thank_ you, Nathaniel.”

He instantly appears consoled, nodding and letting go of you. But you find that you actually miss the weight of his touch.  
‘ _Weird_ ,’ you think.

  
Sporting a bright grin, you swiftly set the watering can upright before spinning to face the angel again. He’s still shaking his wings every now and again, causing you to grimace. It must feel horrible to have wet wings.  
Suddenly, an idea springs to mind.  
“Hey! Y-you wanna come in the back to dry off? I’ve got a hairdryer in one of the drawers.”  
Nathaniel blinks down at you cluelessly. “A hair dryer?”  
“Yeah! Oh, you’ll love it! Come on!” A sudden spark of courageous excitement ignites deep inside your belly. Extraordinary things like this just don’t happen to people like you, might as well make the most of this one.

  
You grab the angel’s huge gauntlet and tug him towards the door leading to a storage room in the back of your shop. He goes rigid when you touch him, staring at your tiny hand in his. But then, with a tiny smile, he allows you to guide him through the door with no resistance.

Nathaniel squeezes through after you, ducking his head to avoid smacking it against the wooden frame.  
Letting go of his hand, you trot over to a sturdy chair in the corner of the room and pull it out into the centre, continuing to busy yourself with brushing a few, stray leaves off the seat. You smile up at Nathaniel and pat the wood enthusiastically. “You can sit over here if you’d like!”  
Confused at your rapid shift in demeanour, he mentally shrugs, deems you worthy of his trust and slowly lowers his armoured bulk onto the relatively flimsy chair. It creaks warningly under the weight of his armour, but it holds.

  
The angel's pale eyes follow your movements whilst you move over to a chest of drawers and start rummaging around inside one for a while until you give a triumphant, ‘Ah hah!’ and pull out some strange, metallic device.  
Marching to the wall behind the chair, you plug the hairdryer into a spare socket before returning to the waiting angel.  
“Now, just hold still,” you urge him even as his neck cranes over his right shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever’s going on.  
“What are you doing back there?” he inquires, “What _is_ that bizarre contraption? What does it do?” He rapid-fires questions at you whereas you simply roll your eyes with a soft giggle and flick the small switch to the ‘On’ position.

  
Unfortunately, the moment the loud machine roars noisily to life, Nathaniel leaps from the chair and whirls about. His hand flies to the hilt of his great-sword, but he doesn’t unsheathe it just yet.

  
Startled, you hold up your free hand placatingly and turn the hairdryer off once again.  
“….Dude….” you deadpan.

  
“What manner of foul beast is that!” the angel bellows.  
Casting the machine a baffled look, you reply. “Ummm, it’s a hairdryer?”  
He continues to glare at it suspiciously. “It roars like a demon…”  
You laugh lightly, motioning for him to calm down. “Trust me, if it were a demon, I wouldn’t have it in my floristry. I just use it to dry the silk flowers outside if they get caught in the rain, like today. Here, watch.”

  
With that, you turn it on again and aim it towards your own head. The angel’s eyes burst open and he releases his sword’s handle as your hair begins to billow around in the concentrated stream of hot air.  
“See?” you coax him back over to the chair again, “It’s not going to do anything. Not that it could hurt you, even if it wanted to. Besides, you’ll feel much better once your wings are dry.”

  
Curious, but cautious, he ventures back over to the chair and stares keenly into your eyes. You return the look with a sincere smile. It dawns on you that he’s searching you for any sign of deception. Evidently, he finds none, because the next thing you know, his full lips stretch into a placid grin. The angel then turns his back to you and sits.

  
You nod triumphantly, turning the dryer to the lower setting so that you can talk without having to shout. Slowly, tenderly, you start to pass the hairdryer over the tips of Nathaniel’s wings. You revel in the softness of his feathers whilst you thread each one delicately through your fingers to make sure the hot air dries them effectively. Honestly, you’re hard pressed to say which is softer: This magnificent angel’s immaculate wings, or the petals of a rose.  
Under your touch, Nathaniel seems to be physically melting into the chair. His enormous shoulders slouch forward and he grunts softly when you rove the hairdryer up to his wing-bone and thumb at the shorter feathers there.

  
For the next half hour, you and the angel make pleasant conversation, inquiring as to the other’s home life, friends, family, culture, interests and hobbies.  
Small talk, yes. But it’s the kind of small talk that gives you a clearer insight into each others’ lives. It feels good.

  
No other customers enter your shop, the phone never rings and the rain continues to fall gently against the window pane. Until, at last, a weak sunbeam crawls slowly up your leg and glints off the metal dryer, flashing in your eye and drawing your mind back to the present. You glance at the back window, admittedly dismayed when you see that the rain has finally stopped.  
With a click, you turn the hairdryer off, unplugging it and wrapping the cord around the handle to keep it from tangling up in the drawer. Nathaniel shifts on the chair, a heavy sigh leaving his lips before he stands up and turns to face you.

  
Your heart thuds loudly in your chest at the impressive sight before you.

  
The angel towers over you and spreads his wings out to either side of him as far as they’ll go before they hit the confining walls. They stretch with a rustling, rippling sound, like willow branches in a soft breeze. Now that they’re dry, the feathers look so full and clean. You have to resist the urge to run your hand over them once more.

  
Humming contentedly, Nathaniel inspects his wings and gives a nod of satisfaction. “That,” he rumbles, “was glorious.”

  
Shyly, you scuff your toe against the floor and avert your eyes from his, trying to hide your blush. “It was nothing, I’m just happy to help.”  
When you look up, the angel is gazing at you with a mixture of curiosity and awe, his lips quirking up at the corners in a barely-restrained smile. Then, his eyes land on the sunlight streaming through the window. You can’t be sure, but you think you see his smile falter for a moment.

  
He mumbles something to himself, following behind as you reluctantly bustle to the front of the shop again and sigh loudly. “Well….It’s stopped raining….”

  
Nathaniel regards you closely until he turns his attention to the wet pavement outside. “So it has,” he murmurs noncommittally. Neither of you say anything further for a while, allowing the soft music to fill the silence. It’s broken when the angel suddenly coughs, catching your attention. You blink up at him as he scratches the white beard on his chin.  
“I wonder,” he mutters. Tilting your head, you jump when all of a sudden, the angel stoops to gather your hand in his.

  
“Nathaniel! Wh-what are you-?”

  
He interrupts your stammering with renewed vigour in his voice. “Y/n. The reason I came to your realm today…I want to learn more of Earth and her culture. I thought to simply go about it by myself, but I realise that it would be far more beneficial for me to have a _human_ by my side in this venture. For who better to teach an angel about humanity, than a human themselves?” He draws your hand closer to his chest and lowers his head further towards yours, so close that you can see the slight discolouration of his left eye where the scar has torn through the iris, leaving a long, pale pink stripe up the length of his eyeball.

  
“When do your duties end?” he asks.

  
“My…my duties?” you blurt out. Then, it clicks. “Oh! You mean when do I get off work?”

  
He nods eagerly, still not letting go of your hand.

  
“Well, okay um….” Glancing up at the clock on the wall, you note the time is 4:30pm. Usually, you close up at about 5, but nobody had been in all day, save for Nathaniel. Apparently, it just wasn’t the day for business making. Still, that meant nobody would really mind if you closed up a little early, surely.  
You look back at the angel and shoot him a timid grin, “Give me about five minutes and I’m all yours.”  
Nathaniel thumps a hand over his breastplate and finally releases your hand. “By your leave, Y/n.”

  
It doesn’t take long for you to dart around your floristry, making sure all the flowers are sitting in water and don’t have any bacteria growing on the bottom of the stems. Then, you trot into the back room, turn off the light there and close the door. Nathaniel waits patiently as you usher him outside, locking the front door behind you and stuffing your keys into your coat pocket. You turn to face him. “Right then. Shall we?”  
He bows his head, falling into step beside you as you walk down the street, talking animatedly with the angel who’s attentive eyes never leave your face.  
You failed to notice, when you left the shop, that the ceramic shards from your broken vase were nowhere to be seen.

  
EXT ENDING —-

  
The evening you’d spent with your new, otherworldly friend; Nathaniel, was definitely in your top three evenings. Even if all you’d done was stroll and sometimes swoop through the city and talk. Just talk.

  
It’s with a light step that you glide down the street in the morning to your shop. As you approach, your eyes land upon an object resting innocently on the front step.  
Intrigued, you bend draw to a halt above the item and peer down at it. A light, flutter of excitement courses through your body when you recognise it.  
Your vase. The very same one you’d hand painted but shattered just yesterday. Yet there it stands, whole and complete. Seemingly without a scratch on it. Resting against the ceramic is a small, faded scroll, tied together with a thin strip of pulsing golden light. You hesitantly pick up the vase and the scroll. The moment your fingers touch the parchment, the golden light vanishes with a burst of magic, dissolving into the air and allowing the scroll to unravel elegantly. “Cool,” you breathe, juggling your keys and the vase until they rest under one arm so that you can fully unroll the bizarre letter to read it. Your heart leaps into your throat at the large, bold writing that adorns the paper.

  
‘ _To my new, but dear friend, Y/n,_  
_It is my hope that this letter finds you well._  
_I, by no means, have the intricate crafting skill of a maker, but I wanted to at least try and repair that which had been broken._  
_The few, small but precious hours I spent with you will forever remain close to my soul. You showed me your world in a way I’d never thought I would see, showed me kindness that I didn’t deserve and above all, you have agreed to be my friend. They are few and far between of late, so I treasure the ones that I make._  
_I will drop in when I am next able, although I’m afraid it will not be today. I am needed in Lost Light. Perhaps I can show you my home, some day._  
_Be safe, resplendent one._  
_Your friend,_  
_Nathaniel.’_

  
You clutch the letter to your heart with a blissful sigh and slump back against the door. A wide grin splits your mouth in two when your eyes land on several objects poking out of the vase. One is a large, snow-white feather. A promise of protection, if you’re remembering the symbolism correctly.  
The other is a single, lavender rose.

  
“Is this really happening?” you ask nobody in particular.

  
Gazing up at the sky, you smile brilliantly, biting your lip as a sensation close to love swells dangerously in your gut.  
Something wonderful lingers just beyond the horizon. You can practically taste it.  
And you simply can’t wait to find out what it is.


End file.
